The Flamming Myrddraal
by leamaryu
Summary: Well, this myrddraal isn't on fire, if that's what you thought I meant- he just likes the boys! There's no explicit sex, just implied! :P I doubt it needs an R rating, but it might go up later. Let me know what you think.
1. Chap 1

Warning: I do not own The Wheel of Time, this story contains slash... not explicit slash, but if myrddraal and humans having 'relations' disturbs you, get out while you can! Please read and review! Thanks!  
  
Lightning flashed outside the tent, filling the night sky with a bluish light. There was only one tent in the entire camp, even though more than five hundred bodies slept there at night. This was a trolloc camp, complete with cook pots large enough to fit several human bodies at once. The only oddity about this one camp was the single tent. The cloth that made the wall the tent, was deepest black, and hung so still that it seemed it hardly moved. Just outside the tent hung a banner even blacker than the tent.  
  
This tent belonged to a myrddraal named G'nrac. He was, on the outside, the same as any other myrddraal, but he hid a secret so dark he had killed several other myrddraal who had discovered his secret sin. The lands of the Light-fools were full of stories of the finer tastes of myrddraal, causing borderland women to fear for their bodies in raids. G'nrac had base desire, like any other myrddraal, but his lay toward the male sex.  
  
It was shaming to the bone for a myrddraal to lust after men. Shame was bearable, and if that were the only thing G'nrac feared, he would come forward, but it wasn't the only thing he feared. Myrddraal were invariably male, and like most males, they had a fear of those who were different. It took a lot of effort for a myrddraal to be different, but homosexuality did it. G'nrac glared at the memory of the first myrddraal he had told about his aberration: Shizk.  
  
They had learned from the same Dread Lord, and Shizk was the closest thing to a friend any myrddraal could claim. They had enjoyed putting the fear of the Great Lord into trollocs and humans alike. It was just after they had both been given their first commands. Each had less than a hundred trollocs assigned to him, but they were both prouder than Shienarans with new swords. Working together, their two bands struck South, into Kandor, where they obliterated a good-sized town. This would have been fine, except there were prisoners.  
  
Four women, close to madness with their screaming, and two men, one old and toothless, the other young and sweet looking. Just looking at him had made G'nrac want to drool, but myrddraal did not drool. Shizk was close to drooling too, but he was looking at the women; his gaze made them cry even louder. The other myrddraal glided closer to the women, moving sinuously, like a snake. His voice came out of him mouth like ancient leather crumbling.  
  
"Which of you wishes to... entertain... me?" Even without eyes, it was obvious, to the women, that he was leering at them. One finally remembered she had a backbone, stood up straight, and spat in Shizk's face.  
  
"You can kill me, beat me, or throw me to the trollocs, but I will never let you touch me." She flung herself at Shizk, nails raised like talons, red hair flying behind her. This was a woman the light-fools would make a story about, if any of them ever heard of her, which they would not. Shizk laughed, a cruel sound, and grabbed her wrists, twisting her around so her back was to his chest.  
  
"I think you have the spirit I want. I will enjoy you." As she began to scream and thrash, Shizk laughed again, and called to G'nrac, "Pick whichever you want. We can take them to the slopes tomorrow, and I doubt the Great Lord will care if one or two is a little... damaged."  
  
G'nrac waited until the other myrddraal was inside his own tent, before he turned back to the prisoners. They cowered in a heap of stinking human flesh, reeking of terror. He crossed the distance between them, moving so smoothly some thought myrddraal had no bones. Once the humans realized he was coming closer, they stopped screaming, and began to whimper in fear. With a gesture from G'nrac, four trollocs leapt in and un-stacked the people, holding them no matter how they thrashed. Walking an invisible line in front of the humans, his eyeless gaze passing over each, he finally stopped directly in front of the young man, and pointed at him, his finger nearly touching his chest.  
  
The man began to thrash, but G'nrac smiled, and told the trolloc holding the man to take him to the myrddraal's tent. G'nrac laughed, watching the youth struggle. He turned to the other trollocs, letting waves of anger and fear radiate from his eyes into the beasts.  
  
"If I come out, and find one less human, or one missing body parts, thirty of you will die. If more are missing, well... I can feed your bodies to your replacements. I will return." The voice that fell from his mouth sounded like snake skin falling to the ground. He made a quick turn, that should have sent a normal cloak flying, but his hung still about his ankles. The entrance to his tent was lit by a single lantern, to allow shadows for instant travel. Riding the shadows may be more convenient for a single myrddraal, but myrddraal traveling alone, unless by command, were a target to myrddraal with trollocs at their command. The trolloc was already gone, but he had done his job well, leaving the man tied to an X shaped rack in the corner of the tent. G'nrac would have to remember to reward the trolloc, he showed uncommon intelligence.  
  
His attention returned to the young man trapped in the tent in front of him. The trolloc had not gagged the man, and now, rather than thrash and try to fight, the man was weeping and begging. G'nrac walked over to the man, a small smile growing on his pale face. Some light-fools said myrddraal had no lips, but he most definitely did, and enjoyed smiling with them. He allowed his cloak to drop to the ground, where it pooled in a night black puddle. His armor came next, leaving pieces of metal so black it made coal seem as sunshine littered about the tent. Very few humans ever saw what myrddraal wore underneath their armor and cloaks, and the few that did lost the sanity to remember what they saw.  
  
G'nrac wore a black shirt made of treated trolloc hide, it was softer than the finest silks from the South, and was strong enough to deflect what few sword thrusts made it past the armor. His pants were made from slightly thicker trolloc hides. His long black hair dripped off his head hanging limply. He might have been pretty by some Southlander standards, except that where eyes should have peered out of his face, there was nothing but blank skin. The man had stopped screaming and pleading, and was now watching the myrddraal undress.  
  
"W-w-what are you going to do with me?" His voice trembled as he tried to force bravery into it. He was not the standard image of Kandori men. His hair was curly and brown, his skin was tanned, and his eyes were the deepest shade of brown G'nrac had ever seen. Human eyes called him, like a moth to a flame. G'nrac slid close to the man, and leaned in, eyeless gaze meeting warm brown terror filled eyes.  
  
"I am going to have sex with you. I might play with you beyond that, but then you will be taken to the slopes of Thakendar, where your soul will be forged into the blade of a sword. But we won't speak of that just yet." His laugh sounded drier than crumbling leaves. The Kandori man began to scream again.  
  
Hours later, the man had long since stopped screaming, and G'nrac was pulling his pants to his waist, hiding a small tuft of curly black hair. He held the pants up with one hand, and reached for his trolloc hide belt with the other. After a moment, he had all his clothing on securely, armor included. He was ready to leave.  
  
Once he was outside, he began ordering trollocs to strike the camp, which mainly meant striking his tent, grabbing their blankets, and securing the prisoners. Standing in the middle of the camp was Shizk; with the closest thing to a confused look a myrddraal could have on his face. When he saw G'nrac coming, he opened his mouth.  
  
"G'nrac, I could have sworn we captured four women and two men last night, and since I took a woman to my tent, and you took one to yours, there should be two women and two men out here. There are three women and one man. Did one escape, and another woman just appear in the camp? If the trollocs caught her, they would have eaten her. What happened?" Gears began to turn in the myrddraal's head. There was a reason myrddraal were known for their cleverness. Sudden knowledge sprang onto his face, but before he could comment, G'nrac spoke.  
  
"So I prefer to play with the males. We've known each other for years. Just keep it to yourself." He turned to go, but a burble of fury forced its way through Shizk's lips, and the two began to dance. Some men said that blade masters danced when they fought, but that was nothing compared to two myrddraal intent on killing the other. Their blades, darker than night, clashed sending sparks into the early morning sky. It didn't take long. Shizk was angry, and made mistakes. G'nrac was protecting his future and his life, he didn't make mistakes.  
  
G'nrac ordered the trollocs to move out, leaving Shizk's body thrashing on the ground, his own blade thrust through his skull. That had been the first time G'nrac had killed to hide his secret, and few now tried to learn what he did in his tent.  
  
Dropping down from his horse, G'nrac entered his tent. He had moved up in the world of the shadow, and now commanded an entire fist of trollocs. His tent had become more lavish, and now held two X shaped racks, though only one held a man at the moment. The man had reddish hair and pale green-blue eyes. He was one of those Aielmen who found they could channel and went off trying to kill the Great Lord. G'nrac would enjoy playing with this one.  
  
A/N: Let me know if it was good! 


	2. Chap 2

A/N: I didn't expect so many people to review it! So, I'm giving in to popular demand, and continuing the story. If you lose interest, let me know... but if it's still likeable, I might just keep going.  
  
G'nrac stood in the entryway of his black tent, staring at the beautiful Aielman tied to the rack in the middle of the tent. Yes, the man could channel, but not at will. These fools fled everything once they learned what they could do, rather than learn all they could about it. G'nrac had even heard they thought they were destined to slay the Great Lord. The myrddraal thought he would play with this one's mind before moving on to his other pleasures.  
  
His voice like crumbling snakeskin, he asked a quiet question. "How do you plan to kill the Great Lord of the Dark when you cannot evade a small fist of trollocs?" Had a second fist not arrived at the opportune moment, he would have slaughtered the first. This Aielman had the Great Lord's luck. The red haired man tried to gather enough spit to hurl at G'nrac, but his mouth was too dry.  
  
"I can do what men should not do. I have the Power shadowman. When I free myself from this contraption, I will enjoy staking your corpse to the ground." The determination in his eyes made this all the sweeter for G'nrac. The myrddraal let his mouth widen into a parody of a smile.  
  
"That's so sad. I doubt you will have the energy to do much of anything after I'm done with you... Have you heard that myrddraal have the same desires as their parent stock? We were bred from trollocs, which were made from humans mixed with animals. Most myrddraal like to grant their pleasures on human women, but I feel it is better to bless you males. How would you like to see if you could please me?" The Aielman's eyes widened, and he gasped, but his determination grew again, filling his eyes with purpose. G'nrac laughed, well aware that it sounded like bones being crushed.  
  
The myrddraal stood in front of the rack, and with a few quick twists, tore the remaining clothing off the man. A sharp intake of breath was the only sign that the man felt the cool air, but as G'nrac stared at him, his nipples grew hard, and tried to stand up. G'nrac laughed again, delighted at how the man shivered. In a few quick movements, he divested himself of his night-black clothing and armor, exposing his pale flesh to the same cool air. His lack of clothing seemed to enhance the grace with which he moved, and as he approached, the man began to sing.  
  
As the dawn crept under the edge of the tent, G'nrac awoke to the strained voice, still singing. The naked myrddraal looked down at the man, curled against his side. Throughout the night, the man had continued his song. Something about washing spears... The myrddraal laughed to himself, and thought I I need to wash my spear. /I Then G'nrac walked to the washstand against the tent wall, and used the sponge to wash the evidence from the previous night off his body. As he put on his clothing, his gaze fell on the beautiful green-eyed man, and he smiled. The man was lost. His mind knew it must keep singing, but that was all it knew. Not who it had been, or why it was here. He was nothing more than trolloc food now.  
  
G'nrac exited the tent, and with some effort, sent a wave of fear cascading over the camp. The camp erupted into motion, as trollocs leapt from their blankets, and howled in fear. The myrddraal lifted his voice, and spoke loud enough for all to hear him.  
  
"My trollocs, I have news for you. We will be returning to N'hak'Shi'Glawg. There we will re-supply, and then begin a journey into the Southlands. The Trolloc that brings me the first bowl of stew will receive a special treat." He turned and went into his tent. The trollocs would enjoy this tidbit, and since his mind and soul had fled the body, he was no good to the armories of Thankendar. It only took a heartbeat before he heard a grunt outside his tent. G'nrac kicked aside the tent flap to reveal an eagle beaked trolloc, who even had a crest of feathers, holding a large bowl of thick stew. The stew had only three ingredients: flesh, ground bones, and some water, carried in barrels. It was delicious.  
  
"Graal has brought this for the high one. May Graal know what the treat is to be?" One could not expect trollocs to be master linguists. With a casual flick of the hand, G'nrac pointed at the Aielman.  
  
"He's all yours Graal. Just be ready to run in one hour." The foolish trolloc would most likely go gorge on the man's body, and then run himself until he puked. But that would not bother G'nrac. Puking trollocs were often killed by other trollocs, because puking generally meant weakness or illness. Either was a death sentence. The greedy trolloc grabbed the man, scraping his wrists and ankles as he tore him off the rack. G'nrac laughed as Graal loped into the camp, already fighting with his comrades for the man's body. The myrddraal ran from his tent, and leapt to his horse. His cloak still hung, still as if from a peg, but his voice lashed out at the trollocs under his command.  
  
"I ride now, but if I turn back and do not see this whole camp inside half an hour... I can purchase more supplies than just foodstuffs. I can buy another fist of trollocs. Now, run!" Wheeling his horse, he sped off into the West. Their first stop was one of the few trolloc cities, where myrddraal met to trade, and the trollocs maintained their limited form of government. It almost made G'nrac laugh to think of their different clan leaders trying to act like a senate. But foolish children must ape their parents, and like it or not, trollocs are the children of humanity.  
  
The whole camp was behind him when he turned to look for them, and he smiled. None would need to die tonight. They ran until the sun set and only then dropped to the ground to rest. At the next dawn, they leapt into another fierce day of running with only one break to water the trollocs. After three days of forced traveling, the weakest began to die. In two more, the stronger began to flag, and by the seventh day, they walked into the city walls.  
  
The pile of ragged walls, tents, and sticks barely deserved to be called a city, but it held what any roving myrddraal needed to outfit his band of trollocs. The city had several trolloc forges, feed markets, where humans were bought and sold, and a message center for quick communication between the Myrddraal High Command and their field officers. The first stop for G'nrac was that message center.  
  
A fadeling, barely 14, but still old enough to cause a few trollocs to fear, manned the front desk. When G'nrac approached, the younger fade sneered at him, demanding why he was here. With no warning, G'nrac grabbed the myrddraal by the scruff of the neck, and smashed his face against the desk.  
  
"I came to see if I had received any orders. Be glad I do not take you to find a long walk off a short cliff. My name is G'nrac. Do I have any messages?" He punctuated each sentence by slamming the young fool's face into the hard wood desk. Finally, the bloody fade looked up and managed to whisper.  
  
"No, great master. There was another fade looking for you. He came in two days past..." His voice trailed off as he dropped into unconsciousness. If he was killed while in that condition, it was the will of the Great Lord. If he lived, he learned a lesson. G'nrac cursed, and rushed to his camp, where he selected the five largest of his trollocs.  
  
The six of them all but ran to the markets, where G'nrac paid for 40 new weapons for the band, 35 slaves, and six bags of bone meal. The slaves could be rationed out, and once they were gone, they could hunt for more, but the bone meal should last them four months. They hurried back to the camp, and packed everything they could. If it was not packed in five minutes, they left it. Before the sun set, the band of trollocs was well on their way into Saldaea.  
  
A/N: OK... so what did you think? Yes, it's short... but that's how I write... sometimes. ;) 


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